Pearl in Deep

PEARL IN DEEP THE JOLVIX EPISODES FAITH GARDNER Copyright © 2023 by Faith Gardner All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Cover by Dissect Designs Be the first to learn about Faith Gardner’s upcoming releases by joining her newsletter! For Jamie, my soulmate. CONTENTS Prologue Five Years Ago Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84 Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Chapter 87 Chapter 88 Chapter 89 Chapter 90 Chapter 91 Chapter 92 Chapter 93 Chapter 94 Chapter 95 Chapter 96 Chapter 97 Chapter 98 Chapter 99 One More Thing… A note from the author Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Faith Gardner PROLOGUE The pounding on my door is as heart-stopping as gunshots. I add a tiny folded shirt to the laundry pile on my bed and wait a second. Maybe it will pass—a delivery person, a solicitor. But no, the violent knocking starts up again. My skin crawls as I make my way to the front living room window to peek out the paisley curtains. I’m scared I’ll see men in pink, but instead, it’s men in blue. Outside, next to my rusty wind spinner and crooked mailbox, two police officers wait with hands on hips. I flick the curtain shut and a one-second horror movie filled with infinite possibilities flashes through my mind. “Mommy?” a little voice calls out. “Who is it?” “Nobody, noodle, please stay in your room,” I tell her. An invisible brick crushes my chest. Hand on the knob, I collect myself with a moment of stillness, then open the door. “Yes?” I ask them. “You Pearl Blackwood?” the taller one asks, his voice a baritone. “I am.” Calm. Staying in the moment. Inhale and exhale. “What’s this about?” The shorter cop has a jagged scar on his face that looks like it has a story, one I probably FIVE YEARS AGO CHAPTER ONE I’m crying in an elevator full of mirrors, surrounded by sad Pearls. Not ten minutes ago, I was publicly chewed out by my boss—chewed up and spit out, more like. I work at Sky, the rooftop restaurant perched atop the thirtieth floor of a skyscraper in downtown San Francisco. Four-letter words weren’t hurled against me, but four-syllable words were, and that might hurt worse. Wiping my leaking eyes with my apron, the elevator doors open. A man waits. He stares back unblinkingly with what I assume is concern. “All right if I join you?” he asks. “It’s fine,” I say, swallowing. He hesitates and then steps in. We both face the silver doors as they shut and we stand side by side. The elevator gently plummets. In the reflection, I watch him turn to me to study my face. “Want to talk about it?” he asks. “That’s okay,” I say. He turns to face forward again, eyeing me there in the mirrored doors. “Let me guess,” he says. “You work at that restaurant on the top floor?” “What gave it away?” I ask. “The apron or the despair?” “The unmistakable mix of both,” he says, turning to